I Remember You
by Fasnacht
Summary: "Now we're far apart/And I don't lie awake at night/But every once in a while/Right out of the blue/I remember you." Jake is a sophomore at college when things go from good to everyone's definition of great. That is, except his own. It takes a mystery man, a horsehair bracelet, and a "hack reporter" to help him see the fine lines between humility and reclusiveness. Challenge fic.
1. Even When I'm Blue

_Cause in my dreams she travels with me when I run_

_And in my dreams she takes my hand_

_When I make my stand but morning always comes_

_And I know it's too good to be true_

_She loves me even when I'm blue_

_No one can say that I ain't tried_

_I keep on searching far and wide_

_And I know she's out there somewhere now_

_I'm gonna track her down somehow_

_Even When I'm Blue_, Steve Earle

Jake knew it wasn't wise, but he could never talk himself out of it. This was likely the most unwise thing he'd ever done, including all those run ins with Linc Slocum, because no matter what, he kept doing this. At least with Linc he had tried to stop the whole thing a time or two. Schools like this, ones with multimillion dollar track and field complexes didn't take kindly to felons, and neither did his major. And yet, here he was, taking advantage of a door he wasn't supposed to know about to sneak through a service hallway into the complex, and down a flight of back stairs into the locker room. The service hallway was brightly lit, and Jake had to blink three or four times as he adjusted to the light, his sneakers moving along the polished floors. Lemon cleaner filled the air as he let a door shut as softly as possible behind himself. He padded up the stairs, his blue duffel striking against his back. This was easy now, as familiar to his muscle memory as his class schedule, but it hadn't always been that way. He made a mistake once, and ended up in the women's room. Needless to say, he doubled back and took the left door on the stairs, and not the right.

The stairs ended in a hallway, right next to the door that he needed. Jake checked that the coast was clear, and entered the track like he owned the place. He didn't, of course, own the David H. R. P. Melanchthon Track and Field Complex. However, he knew that the best way to pull off getting in here was to act confident and then play dumb if caught, which he hadn't been, not in months over the past school year and this new one.

Dropping his bag on the bench, Jake changed his shoes quickly. Breathing in the silent night, he walked over to toe the line, only faintly able to hear the sounds of life on the busy campus. Jake squared the starting line, turned up his iPod, and took off, watching the eerie glow of his watch glint in the darkness.

He blew out a breath as he hit his stride, and felt his muscles begin to sink into the running, into the motions. He couldn't really describe it beyond a knowing, he'd tried, but nothing ever made sense. His body knew what it was doing, and the chemicals his brain released took his thoughts away from the place he most wanted to be. He couldn't think about home. He couldn't think of Sam. He was tired of wanting to go home, tired of missing her like the cool air that whipped by him, tired of wondering what she was doing in the odd moments when he wasn't busy.

He needed to sweat. He needed to excise her light scent from his skin, the feeling of his wrist encased in her hand when she'd slid the Phantom's bracelet onto his wrist. He needed to breathe, to feel the track under his feet. The track, the seconds ticking by were there with him. It was real, not like the glimpses of a laughing girl he sometimes saw ahead of him, on the track, and in the corner of his eyes. He ran at night, because there was nothing but him out here, not even the stars. If he was lucky, he was able to fool himself that he was just running, and when he stopped, he wouldn't be so alone. His mind did crazy things, and he was able to feel as though he were home, sometimes, and he sometimes felt as though he was beyond it, off on a runner's high where nothing mattered but the next whoosh of air, the next bead of sweat, the next step.

Jake checked his time, realized that he needed to power though the next lap, and threw himself into the hypnotic movements. Still, he could see her beside him, see her there with him. The notion drew him back to the track and to the paths around campus, when he was alone, when he could pretend to outrun the thoughts that swirled inside him when he saw something on campus that made him wonder what Sam would think, or what was going on at home.

Jake liked college. He did. He loved it. It was empowering to be Jake Ely, hardworking student and solid athlete, free from all of the expectations of being taught by his own mother. He'd made friends. He did all the right things. He tried to go to parties, join clubs, learn his sport, go to classes. He smiled, and he tried to be the sort of person who was able to take advantage of every chance that came along to make something of himself. His running was his ticket out of Darton, his ticket to make something of himself. He planned to go back, but a part of him wanted so much, deep inside, to be lauded like Kit was, only to do something better than Kit ever would and go back, go back and be able to say, "I did this for you guys, so that I could come home and be what I needed to be." Jake wanted, more than anything, to prove himself, to himself, to anyone and everyone.

Sometimes, though, it was hard to admit that he was homesick, even after so long of being away. Homesickness hit him as he looked up at the sky towards the West. His heart skipped a bit when he didn't see the stars very well. It freaked him out, sometimes, the sky in the suburbs. He missed the stars, missed living a life where he could take the time to look up, and find them there, blinking down, bright, a shot of clarity in a world full of uncertainty. He did his best though, to fall in line and find value in his circumstances. He tried to see things like Sam would. He tried to look for adventure and color, texture and light, in the world, but he never did find them.

She was those things, and she wasn't there, so sometimes he wondered why he bothered looking for them here, when he knew they were there within her. She helped him to see those things. Jake liked to think that they were good friends, that they balanced each other out. She was home, with Witch, finding her own space and niche in high school as a senior. People liked Sam, liked her vibrancy, her way of sticking her foot in her mouth at exactly the wrong time even when she meant well. People liked her passion for the things she believed in, her drive for equality and justice, how she never let go, never stopped fighting, never lost faith in the things she cared about. People liked those things things about her, when they saw them. People liked her quirky joy, but for Jake, her quirks made his life worth living. He lived his life asking what she would do next, the newest way she'd turn the entire world on its head, leaving him in awe of her.

Jake knew that endorphins were flooding his brain. He could feel his muscles start to really loosen, to the point that the laps nearly became automatic, right down to the turns. And yet, it was as though he was acutely aware of every movement, of the strike of his heel, the spread of his toes within his sneaker. Jake knew that in his heart, he was a long distance runner. He didn't have the panache or the skill of some of his teammates, but man, give him a some grass, give him a gravel road that cut through the mud, give him a dirt path, and he was in his element. It was no surprise then, that he loved cross country. His teammates...

When the iPod again switched songs in the shuffle, he heard a movement from the bleachers. All thought flew from his mind as he stopped, nearly falling. His head whipped up to find an old man staring at him with eagle eyes. He was done for. Less than three years on the team and he was cooked. Maybe he would be going home sooner than later. There was a crook of the man's finger, and he moved to meet the man at the foot of the bleachers.

"Who are you?" The man asked, pushing glasses up his nose. His pants were creased, but he wore them with ease. He stuffed a tissue back into his pocket, and patted it, as though it needed help to stay there.

Jake's tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. His teeth felt like razors in his mouth, clunky and painful. Jake was silent. He could barely breathe. The man took umbrage to that. "Is that who they're admitting now? Dullards who can't even reply to a simple inquiry? Well." He seemed put off. Jake knew he had to find his voice and seal his fate.

"Jake Ely." Jake said, quickly, "My name is Jake Ely." He knew that the man could see every puff of air that left his body, and Jake knew what information could be pulled away from his respiration, information that had little to do with the laps he'd just been running. His heart pounded.

"Harrison Reese. I don't answer to Harrison." The man said, "Do you run for this school, Jacob?" Reese sized him up, and Jake didn't know what to make of this man, one who was sitting here, in the bleachers, for no apparent reason. They were routinely warned about shooters, but Jake didn't get that vibe from this man.

"Yes, sir." Jake replied, "I'm a Sophomore." He blinked up at the man, wondering what was going to happen to him. Jake felt bare in his long sleeved T-shirt. The nights were chilly, now, bracing, but the man, Reese, didn't seem at all bothered by the chill, even though he had previously been sitting fairly high up on the bleachers. Jake knew that, for as nice as they were, bleachers were bleachers.

"That much is plainly evident. Does George know you're here?" George was the first name of the coach, who, Jake did not want to admit, had no idea that Jake was here. Reese seemed to be having a conversation with himself, as his tone and inflections changed rapidly, "No, that's plain. Did you use the back stair? No matter." Reese said, "You made fantastic time."

"Sir?" Jake asked. This was the first time he'd heard that level of praise, if he were totally truthful. His performance was slightly on the better side of average, less than it had ever been in high school, even on his worst day then, and Jake wondered if the man was being kind. Then again, he always ran better alone, on nights like this, when the air was chilly and the hours seemed endless. How had the man known about his routine?

"You might say I'm..." Reese paused carefully, as though he was making fun, "rather knowledgeable. At least I was." Reese stood, and clambered over the bleachers towards the exits. His age was belied by a grace and ease, "Lovely to have met you, Jacob. Do lock up when you're done, hm?"

Later, Jake wondered if perhaps the complex was haunted. He couldn't bring himself to ask, of course, because it would mean telling the story of how it had happened, how he'd met this mystery man. Jake filed it away, one of those secret happenings that boosted his morale on a day he'd needed it and didn't look into it. Reese's declared, "You made good time" rang in his ears when he blew a practice and had to endure the heckling of some teammates, or the quiet disappointment of his coach. He never stayed long in the locker rooms, after he dressed and slid the horse hair bracelet back onto his wrist. Sam had given it to him, to take with him, to remind him of home, and he never took it off.

His teammates were awesome people, but he felt out of place oftentimes, as though he were an old man in room full of boys, even as they all had more collective experiences with things that said society made boys men. It was all junk, anyhow. They saw nothing wrong with running without pants throughout the library, screaming the school chant. Jake wouldn't do it. They thought he was immature, but it all seemed so lame. As long as they could complement each other during meets, what did it matter how they socialized? He made a few friends on the team and that was enough. He kept to himself, even as he knew that all of his teammates thought they knew him well. They saw the limits of what he allowed them to see, things relating to the sport, their training, and surface stuff about school and life here. It was the bare surface of who he was, and Jake was fine with that.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Running privately was his only salvation in a sea of commitments and constraints. He took out his frustration on the track, on the grass, on the dirt. It was easier to control his pace than to control his thoughts toward his roommate. He didn't get along with his roommate and there was no solitude there, ever. The dude smoked pot in their en suite bathroom. Today, Jake had walked into the room and it smelled like a hole in the wall tea shop in the red light district in Amsterdam. It was like his roommate was more concerned with pot and beer and women than academics. His roommate's lifestyle didn't mesh well with Jake's, who was an athlete and a scholar. If he wasn't running, he was reading, and if he wasn't doing that, he was sleeping or eating.

There had been a bit of something that might be close to rain, earlier, and Jake didn't bother to turn on the lights. He wanted to get a few miles in before bed, simple, easy, hamster on a wheel miles. He couldn't sleep anymore. It wasn't overtraining. He knew it wasn't. The weekly lectures on healthy training he heard assured him of that. He knew why he couldn't sleep and it had nothing to do with his sport, nothing to do with the mud that sometimes seeped into shoes. Jake didn't care what got into his shoes, so long as he kept his chip on his body. He spent the nights, staring the ceiling, and at the phone, knowing he should call, but having no idea what he should say. He stared at the horsehair bracelet Sam had slid onto his wrist before he left home, telling him that it would keep him grounded, bring him the luck that she felt it had brought her. He felt alone, and he knew he was. Most of it, all of it, was a jail of his own making because he couldn't really relax without running, couldn't sleep unless he was drifting off, coming down form a high. He reworked his training schedule to allow him time to do that safely and effectively, even as he got the side-eye from the trainers and the coaches.

He was kind and polite, made friends, and on the surface, he knew he looked like a pretty popular guy who had his stuff together, who absolutely loved college and was dedicated to his sport. If they only knew that he was merely a master at putting on a good front. He wasn't an iceman, like his teammates said. He wasn't unflappable and level. Within himself, Jake knew that he had depths he didn't allow people to see. He was good at putting up a facade. If they knew how sensitive he sometimes felt, well...

Jake had run about three miles when he heard the _thunk _of one set of overhead lights. He stopped, rooted in place, when the next set lit up in quick succession. He was done for, this time. This time, his coach would see him, here, and he would be brought up on charges of B&amp;E or something. Jake peered up, towards the box that held the system. He exhaled when he saw it was the same older man that he'd seen before. He was glad to known that Reese wasn't a figment of his imagination, or worse yet, a delusion created by a cracking mind. Jake twisted the bracelet on his wrist when he heard Reese say over the speaker, "Office. Now."

Jake took one last look around the complex, and wondered how on earth he was going to tell Mom about getting tossed out. She always said that he was her good child. It showed what she knew. He'd always had a wild side, and it had finally bit him in the behind. Jake made his way to the office, hoping and praying that he could explain. Reese was sitting in Coach Parker's chair. When Jake walked in, he was muttering and trying to raise the chair. He ignored Jake, who stood in the door, "You would think with all of the money, they would have acquired a decent chair." Reese said. Jake did not reply. Instead he looked down at the score sheets on the desk. His name was highlighted across them.

Jake swallowed. "Mr. Reese, why did you...?" Jake did not understand who this man was, why he was sitting in the coach's office, why he was digging through score sheets and picking Jake out of all of the people on the teams. He wasn't the best, but he wasn't the worst. He did not deserve this kind of attention, so he knew that this scrutiny was because of his frowned upon behavior. "You don't listen, do you?" Reese said, "Sit."

Jake sat. Reese spoke, and Jake listened. Jake did not take in the surroundings. He focused on the graying man in front of him, whose collared shirt was rumpled. There was a spot of mustard on the collar that Jake found funny amid the terror of being reported. "Would you care to explain the discrepancies I see?"

Jake swallowed thickly, "Reese, it started because I needed to make better time. I changed to doing some stuff at night. I shouldn't be in here without permission." He didn't know what else to say. The facts were unalterable and clear. "I mean no harm to the facility."

"What are you talking about?" Reese said, "You think I care about who runs in here? What do you think the place is for? I don't want it sitting empty, a shrine to that president's efficacy. He charmed some old man into signing away half of his money to put into this thing." Reese shoved some papers at Jake, "I want to know why you run so well when you're alone, and then your form and performance is all over the place at other times."

How did this man know all of that? "Sir, I am not sure..." Jake twisted the horsehair bracelet on his wrist, wishing with all his might that had something to say that could explain. Reese was on the motion like a flash.

"Nervous?" Reese said, smirking. "I've seen you run alone off the tack, too. I thought maybe you're not suited to cross country, but it appears that you merely come in here for the thrill of it." Jake stopped twisting the horsehair bracelet Sam had entrusted him with while he was away from home. She said it would help him, with what he didn't know, but the bracelet never left his wrist except in labs, during meets, and when he was getting wet. The horsehair bracelet that had been comfortable and roomy over Sam's slimmer wrist had slid over their joined hands and onto his wrist like it had been made for him. "Is that a religious object, or are you just trying to look pretty for the ladies?"

"Neither, Reese." Jake replied, unwilling to tell Reese that he simply ran better when alone, though he did not know why. It simply was a fact. "You...don't intend to call security?" Jake needed to clarify. Heady relief was coursing through him.

Reese looked affronted. "You're sure you have no idea why your times are all over the place?" Reese looked down at the papers, picked up a few, and studied them. After a agonizing moment, "Well, I don't know what you're doing at night, but you can be damn sure I'm going to figure it out. Do it again."

"What?" Jake asked, shooting to his feet as Reese made his way to the door. "Reese?"

"We're going to put you through the paces. I'll be taking charge..." Reese marched right through the main door, which led Jake to think that he was faculty. "This time, I'm going to have a better view."

Jake didn't know what he had just signed himself up for, but he knew that he had just made a commitment to something new and something bigger. Reese was obviously serious, and Jake knew that for tonight, he had better roll with whatever was going on. A little time to work on things without worrying about being caught was worth it. Jake bent towards the bench to take off his iPod, and remove the Phantom's bracelet. It was standard procedure at practice. Both were left in his locker. It was the only time, other than in labs and showers that he removed the bracelet. Reese, though, shook his head. "No deviations. Go." The bracelet stayed on his wrist, as it would for every other practice with Reese.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Such was the start of something incredible. Reese was a grueling taskmaster, but Jake saw improvements. He surmised that Reese was a former athlete himself. Jake knew that he should feel bad for working with Reese, but he just couldn't, not when his improvements meant that he was helping his team more and more. Jake consistently improved upon the times coach Parker was used to seeing in practice. Something inside of Jake shifted, and for the first time, the coach smiled at him when he left, though maybe the smile was really just the absence of scowl. The next weeks were amazingly steady, and Jake felt like he was really growing.

Then, it all went to hell. The papers started, first tiny blurbs, then calls for comments on sports stories, and then stories about him. He ignored them and went about his business, earning the respect of his teammates, even if they did josh him about refusing to speak to anyone when they themselves spoke to reporters who wanted to talk to them. Jake didn't feel he had time for that kind of stuff. It felt dishonest, and it felt self-important. He was a member of a team, and he was happy to let others speak for that team. The reporters only wanted to talk with him because...well, he didn't quite buy their reasoning, or their sensationalistic spins about his improvements, or their pleas to understand just who was Jake Ely.

Even though most of his training was off-road, he still snuck into the track to run. Sometimes, not all of the time, but sometimes, the gate was unlocked and the lights were on, saving him the trouble of hopping a fence and fiddling with the system. Sometimes, Reese would be there. He would time Jake, occasionally, but mostly, he'd just sit in the bleachers doing paperwork. Jake often wondered what he was up to, when he was just sitting. He felt a certain kinship with the man, who was always around. Maybe he was alone, too.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Reese was an enigma. The things the man knew about cross country blew Jake's mind, and Jake had been running the sport for years. Jake's sophomore year was radically impacted by the man, who had no problem ripping a Pop-Tart out Jake's hands and lecturing him about clean eating, yanking a bottle of chocolate milk out of his bag, and asking him to run stairs until he could feel his body doing stairs in his sleep. Reese was right. Long amounts of on the track would do him no good in real meets, other than improve endurance. In cross country, there were hills and mud and grass. You did more than turn left and you had more to consider than just your PRs. Cross country was a sport and an art. There was a beauty in meeting the land where it was at rather than bending it to your will to run around like hamsters on wheels. Jake stopped meeting Reese at the track and started listening to the emails that sometimes showed up in his inbox about great places to run around campus, only to discover that it wasn't his fellow teammates sharing the information, not even the Senior guy who had been his buddy Freshman year. He'd only been running at the track because the laps were repetitive. No. He'd run there because he'd needed the thrill of being somewhere he wasn't supposed to really be, after years of backing up Sam as she did her thing.

Jake loved cross country. So there were times that he'd had more blisters than Jesus when he was barefoot in the desert being tempted by Satan, so what? He loved the feeling he got when he ran up an incline only to come down again. He wasn't close to his team, but he respected them as people and as athletes. He loved cross country, and he was glad that Harrison Reese had shown him the simple joy of pushing yourself to your limits in the gym and the mud when apathy had all but overtaken him in those months. During those months with Reese, Jake found a recommitment to his sport within himself, one that didn't just come from wanting to be someone, but one that came from wondering what he already was. He found new joy in seeing the sunburn on his skin, the tan-line on his wrist from where the bracelet lived permanently now, on shoveling massive amounts of pasta into his face. It was the small things that got him through, like learning to saw "screw it" and keep the bracelet on at all times, no matter how odd it might seem to his teammates, boys who didn't change their socks or sorted their cereals. He had no idea that it was the small things that were going to rock his world so violently.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Reese showed up in the dining hall one night. Jake watched carefully as Reese took some soup. Jake did not know what the procedure would be. Did he acknowledge the man outside of their meetings on the field? Did he bring up his recent cross country meet? Did he say thank you?

Jake smiled as Reese walked by and said, "Oh, so you do eat food that didn't come from a factory. How very novel." The man had paused at Jake's table. The dining hall was nearly deserted. There was a woman from Jake's lit class eating a small supper, and a few others milling about. "You need new flats. Bring them on Tuesday."

Before Jake could reply, the man walked away, after leaving a copy of the local paper on the table when he picked up his tray, like some kind of spy in a bad novel. Jake looked at the sports headline that the paper had been folded to display, scowled. He turned and tossed in the recycling. Why did people think he would, or even should care, when he made the papers? Everyone looked foolish in the photos, and these reporters didn't know anything about him. He made sure of the latter fact. Jake bit into his salad, knowing that he would have to make the time to get new racing flats. His spare pair was quickly becoming the better pair. Wait. How did West know he needed new flats? Had he been somewhere that Jake was wearing them? Who was this Harrison Reese?

Jake couldn't answer that question. Group workouts and runs became something he was looking forward to, something he understood to be beneficial. His course load was crazy, and Coach Parker changed the schedule, switching the days for team runs and resistance runs. Timed and charted runs grew more intensive, more challenging. Jake loved every bit of it. He finally understood why he was running. He wasn't running away from something, he was running towards something. That realization helped him to shift his thinking and he stopped worrying about annoying reporters and silly news articles that didn't mean anything. How could tiny slips of paper mean anything?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Weeks later, Jake wished that he was he was still flying under the radar. He was called by Coach Parker to come to his office. Jake made sure his hands weren't shaking as he let himself into the office. Had Reese finally told Parker that he'd been taking the man's tips? "Ely!" Parker said, "I've got great news for you!"

Somehow, this did not feel like great news. Jake skirted around the chair, taking the seat that was offered to him. The office was the same that Reese had questioned him in months ago. Jake felt so different now. Sure, he was nervous, but he was also more confident. He knew who he was as an athlete. no matter what season or sport he was competing in at the time. Some of the questions that had plagued his first year on the team were slowly being answered.

"I have to say, Jake, that I am enormously proud of your improvements this season. Your Freshman year was rough, but you're coming into your own." Parker said. His style was so much different from Reese's that Jake nearly smiled. He passed a square of paper at Jake, and a chill went down Jake's spine. He hated seeing the headlines about himself, and they kept coming in, no matter how many times he refused to return phone calls and said, "No Comment." Parker passed him another clipping, and then five or six more. He had not been raised to draw attention to himself, to be boastful, and this felt horrible, like he was conceited. There was always room to improve, room to grow. "You've been getting some coverage, as you know."

Jake took the pages and looked at them with barely hidden distaste. The papers had loved the story of a freshman making "massive" improvements in his second year. Jake refused to speak to reporters, even the ones that asked repeatedly. "Yes, sir."

An expression crossed his coach's face. Jake felt it like a death blow. "I'm afraid that I can no longer allow you to refuse to speak to the media. A reporter is going to be meeting you after the next meet. You will give them your story. They have pushed very hard for a meeting, and it will take place." Parker softened after a moment, "I know you're a modest man, Jacob, but there is no modesty in being a recluse."

Jake knew that his coach was simply tired of answering questions and wanted to capitalize on everything he possibly could to garner more support and funding. Jake knew that he was a pawn and that he had no choice. He complied, giving his consent without asking for details. He was only a runner. He wasn't that special, and he hoped that he would be able to make this hack of a reporter see that.

_This is a personal challenge for me. I'm aiming to write a story under 20k words. Let's see if I can do it. So much here is left open to interpretation, though more will be clear in the next chapter. Any guesses who the "hack of a reporter" might be? As always, I welcome comments, reviews, PMs, and any questions or concerns. I'll update by midweek! _

_P.S. I almost made this a celebration of Regina Spektor because of Edit. I cut so much out of this that it's scary. Would you believe I was ever the editor of a college paper for two years? _


	2. I Don't Wanna Lose You Yet

_Baby maybe I'm wrong but what it I'm right  
And everything's depending on us tonight?  
Maybe we'll pass this way again _

_But honey I don't wanna wait 'til then, so..._

_Baby throw your arms around my neck  
Lay your pretty head against my chest  
Listen to one heartbeat then the next  
'Cause baby I don't wanna lose you yet_

_I Don't Wanna Lose You Yet_, Steve Earle

Being a senior had its benefits, Sam thought. "I'll take the story." The entire bank of reporters looked at her and Sam knew what they were thinking. The girl who wrote about wild animals and sold stories to women's magazines at the tender age of 17 was going to cover a sports story? After all, they thought, no one who wrote about women's issues could write about cross country.

Greg, the regular sports reporter, frowned, "Sam. You want a track story?" The advisor for the paper had suggested she take it, though Sam wanted to run it by everyone at the meeting. It was only fair and democratic. Their actual journalism teacher and advisor was out on paternity leave, so the temporary advisor and teacher was the art teacher from the local middle school, Mr. "Call me Mike" Miller. Mr. Miller wrote for the paper in town, and this story would run in both the school paper and the town paper.

Sam bit out, "Cross country is not track, Greg." She smiled, "Still, we've been working on this lead for months." Mr. Miller had been working on getting a reporter an in with the coach for almost six months, and she wasn't about to let this pass to a reporter who didn't even know the difference between cross country and track, "The season's almost over. Now that we've got an in, we need to take it. As editor, I..." She wanted to be the one to interview the coach, but of course she could not come out and say it, or it would be seen as selfish.

Greg rolled his eyes, "Just admit that you want the story so you have an excuse to see your boyfriend." He shut his binder, "Fine. I don't like track anyway."

"Cross country." Sam corrected, not bothering to correct the assumption that Jake was her boyfriend. She denied it so many times that they expected it. Better to keep them guessing.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dad was cool with her taking a Saturday with Mr. Miller to drive out. In the car, Sam smoothed a hand over her simple hairstyle. Every bit of her brown hair was restrained. She was a professional. She couldn't risk her frizzy, messy, hair getting into a shot or anything like that. She hated the tension the weight of her hair created, but it was up and back. Her soft blouse was pretty, and Sam would be lying if she didn't think her new bra did wonders for the floral print. Gram was right about good support and had hauled Sam to the store the second she'd come home with the story for her first professional outfit. Gram was excited, but Sam was nervous. This was her first front page story, and nothing was going to blow it. She looked business casual, from her top right down to the flats she was wearing with dark wash jeans. She couldn't do anything about her pear shape, but she could put her most professional foot forward.

Sam looked at her camera case next to her on the floorboard. She had packed and repacked and packed the bag over and over. It contained everything she might need to have in any eventuality.

She knew that Mr. Miller was along merely for the supervision and so she had not relied on him to pack anything. He spoke as they got off the exit, "Now, Sam. This is your story. I'm here, but I'm not going to do this for you, understood?" The young reporter gave Sam a look as they parked, "You're on, and you're not off this story until it's in the paper, you get me?"

"Yes, sir." He scowled as he got out of the car, "Mike. Sorry." It was creepy calling a teacher by a nickname, even if he was a substitute. It was creepy and she couldn't do it, though she resolved to try harder so as to be perceived by the coach as Mr. Miller's equal, and not a student he was chaperoning. Sam looked around, already thinking about shots. The large building was impressive and starkly new on the campus. She remembered Jake's complaints of construction last spring, and wondered if she should have asked to make plans with him rather than just showing up on his doorstep after this meeting with his coach. She took her camera out of its case, snapped on the lens she wanted, and put the strap over her neck. She slung the camera bag over her opposite shoulder and hoped she looked calm, cool, and professional. Inside, she was shaking.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam made her way down the hallway. Mike was off getting coffee. Sam's stomach turned just thinking about coffee, and she hoped her orange juice would stay down. She snapped a shot of the wing she was walking through, just to test the light and the surroundings. Looking down at the screen, she pursed her lips, and shifted her game plan. The light was off, but no one ever wanted to do a story at sunrise or sunset, so she supposed she had better get used to it. She knocked with some hesitation on the door that read George B. Parker. This building sure was swanky, Sam thought, noting the shining floors and the dark wood. She hoped she hadn't tracked mud indoors.

She knocked again after a moment or two, "Mr. Parker?" There was no reply. Sam started to freak out mentally. The email had said 2:30. It was now 2:33, and Mr. Parker was not in his office. Frantically, she checked her email on her phone, and saw nothing new. She had no clue what to do. They didn't cover what to do in classes if your contact ditched you, only what to do with them when you were sitting down with a tape recorder. The gaps in her education were glaring.

Sam hopped up, trying to see in the window on the upper door. The office was vacant and dark. Finally, she bit her lip. She knocked on the next doorjamb, which thankfully was open and occupied. A voice called out, "George is still in the lockers. Go on down." Sam never saw the person towards the back of the office, but she called out to the woman in thanks.

Sam made her way down a brightly lit stairwell, hoping to explain why she was late. Of course it would have to be her fault. What else could she say, "You weren't where you were supposed to be." No, it would have to be "I'm sorry I couldn't find you."

When she said just that, the coach in coach smiled, and shook his head, "No problem, Miss Forester."

"Sam." She interjected quickly, with a smile. She was starting to calm down inside. He seemed like a very personable man, and exchanging emails with him had made her practice all the things she'd say in her head, coming up with questions and responses to imaginary avenues the interview might take. She could do this.

He nodded, "Sam, then. Your interview is in there." He pointed to the door behind him, and went to turn back to his companion, picking up the thread of his conversation.

"Sir. You're my story." Sam broke in. "I..." She trailed off as she looked at the door. It was a locker room. Was he pulling her leg? She had been published in _Your Table _and _Fannie Farmer_ magazines. They were national magazines. She knew her stuff and she wasn't going to be tossed around. So what if she'd never so much as written a word about sports? She had this down pat, because at its core, interviewing the new coach about taking over after the retired coach was a people story.

"You're mistaken. The other coach urged gently, "You're looking for Jake Ely. Go on in."

"Jake Ely?" Sam spluttered. "I couldn't..." No! The coach was her story. Why were they sending her to Jake? She realized that she was staring and looked like a fool. Maybe Jake was going to keep her company until the coach was done talking to his coworker, or something. It was rather sweet of him, and she was looking forward to saying hello. They hadn't talked in a few days.

The blonde coach smiled softly, misunderstanding her initial hesitation for missish prudery. "It's alright. Go on."

Sam squared her shoulders and pushed the door to the locker room open. She strode into the tiled room with a confidence she didn't feel. She knew that the coach wouldn't lie to her, but she still felt odd walking into a locker room with men in it, no matter how dressed they were supposed to be. Sam kept telling herself not to blush, not to blush, not to blush, but she knew she was blushing horribly. The room was loud, and music was blaring. She stopped as one guy looked to her up and down, raising an eyebrow in blatant query. He turned back to his locker, and Sam scanned for Jake. God, where was he? She suddenly was questioning her chops as a reporter. She knew there was no crying in baseball, but evidently there was no modesty in running. Sam dropped her gaze to the floor. They were not all dressed. She was a half second from bolting when she gathered her resolve and looked up for Jake, praying he would appear. He was nowhere to be seen. Quickly she surmised that he was likely back with the other lockers. She could not go back there, as she could hear water running and knew what they would mean for her modesty, and that of the... Shaking her mind off of the implications, she made a split second decision to hop up on the bench to see over the lockers, and called "Excuse me!" She balanced on the bench, camera bag whacking her bag as she stood on the bench as a gymnast would their beam, assessing and cool.

The loud room quieted once she called out again. The cadence of her voice was at odds with the masculine timbre of the room. A few heads turned towards her. "I'm looking for Jake Ely."

She heard the distinct slam of a locker over the swell of the music. AC/DC continued play, asserting that rock n' roll wasn't noise pollution, as the man in question rounded the lockers and came into the center aisle. She could hear his footsteps behind her and just knew it was him. Sam turned to hop down from the wide bench and came eye to eye with just the person she was looking for. Well, almost. For once, she was taller than Jake. She wasn't sure if it was his proximity or the change in their heights that made her heart pound, "Thank God. You're dressed." The simple observation was something wonderful. She had never been so thankful for that fact in all her life.

Jake was furious. She could see it in his face, in the set of his shoulders, which were, again, covered by a long sleeved t-shirt. Sam did not need to know that his Irish Spring was especially spiring-y today, though the information was quite nice all the same. She stepped back but stepped back too far. Her camera bag was going to hit the floor before her body, and she tried to brace herself but found herself pulled forward and placed on her feet, just as she expected to hit the floor. "Hey!"

Jake gave no reply, not to her or to his teammates, and strode out of the locker room, pulling her along gently, but in such a way that gave her no way out unless she broke his wrist, and he did whine when he broke bones. Sam decided to go along with it, just to preserve his good standing in front of his friends. She didn't want to break his wrist, not really. Every person within eyeshot was staring. "Why are you all looking at me like you've never seen a woman before?" Sam called, trying to preserve the upper hand in this situation, "Watch the camera!" Sam said to Jake, as she tried to grab for it, as Jake propelled her along.

Jake rounded on her in the hallway, "Can't you read?" He snapped. Sam checked that her camera was all right, and tugged her top down. She could feel Jake's incredulous gaze on her, and her heart fluttered under the attention, negative though it was.

She looked up at Jake, "Nice to see you, too." She was biting back a smile, and she knew that once he got over his wilting flower moment, he would be, too. He was so inexplicably odd about the simplest things. What, did he think she had wanted to go in there? She was a professional, for heaven's sake, and he was acting like a small child.

He scowled, "Sam." Running his fingers through his damp hair, Jake asked, "For kicks, read that sign, yeah?"

Sam decided to have fun with phonics. She looked at the sign on the door near them, which read, "Men" and decided to pull out the e sound, reading, "Mean. It says mean."

"That's a short e!" Jake snapped. As he spoke, his hand closed around the shoulder strap of her bag. He slipped the taking her camera bag off of her shoulder, and placed it over his own slinging it over his own.

Sam shifted closer to allow him to do it. Sam grinned and shot back, "As short as your temper?" She let him take the bag, although it was hardly necessary. She would get it back. After all, a reporter carried her own kit.

Jake said resignedly, "I have a very long temper, Sam." Sam snorted. What he lacked was understanding. "You are not a man." So? She wondered what his point was.

Jake said, "Women don't go into men's rooms." He spoke as though he were laying down some law. In his mind, it was clearly just not done. It was unthinkable, according to his reaction and his tone. How dare she violate this rule of Elydom?

"I can if I want to." She rolled her eyes. "It was imperative that I do so, besides."

Jake cut her off impatiently, obviously tired of the conversation, "Besides, I have to blow off some idiot reporter." Sam's stomach sank. She was supposed to interview him? Really? He obviously didn't know it was her, but, honestly, this was not good.

Jake continued, sighing, "Can you please promise me that you will not go into the locker room then we'll get dinner? What do you want, Chinese or Italian?"

Sam was just about to tell him that actually, they were going for Thai at Happy Lin, and he could go hungry if he didn't like it, and after he'd called her an idiot, he was paying for dinner.

"Ely!" George B. Parker blurted, aghast. Sam hadn't even seen that he and the other coach were standing there, and had clearly been observing their entire exchange. The older man spluttered. "I apologize, Miss Forester I-" Sam took pity on him, and the blood rushing to his face as he looked at Jake.

She stuck her hand out to Jake, "Sam Forester, _The Darton Daily_. I'm the reporter. Otherwise known as the Queen of Idiotville."

Jake smiled, obviously at the joke, then frowned. There was a moment of silence as he processed her words. She let him have it as she had already processed what was going on, and knew that they would have to walk away cleanly. He looked at her and at the coach, "She can't do the story." Sam saw that the coach looked bewildered and furious.

"It's true." Sam agreed, mostly to back Jake up, "I shouldn't." She changed tracks, as the coach looked angrier still, "Sir, it was my thinking that I was here to interview you."

"No. It was arranged with Mike for you to interview Mr. Ely. I trust this will not be an issue, Jacob?" Coach Parker said. Sam watched as a look crossed Jake's face. She understood that he was backed into a corner, "Do the story, put it to bed, and you two can stay there with it for all I care."

Sam's blush was instant. It was only because she had just been blushing, she knew. Jake frowned, "What?" Oh, God. Apparently another rule of Elydom had just been trespassed upon. Ely gentleman did not have passionate love affairs with their best friends, however sad she was to admit to that fact in her own life. That rule was resolute.

"Well. Can we use your office, then?" Sam tried to diffuse the situation. After the words left her mouth, she blushed anew, as the coach's eyebrow's rose. She never realized how half the things she said sounded until she said them. "For the story! The interview!"

The coach nodded. Jake was clearly annoyed with the turn of the conversation, "Well, what else would we be doing?"

Sam bit back a normal response of "Shut up, you idiot." This was her first front page, above the fold, honest to God headline story, and she wasn't going to blow it telling Jake something he already knew.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam followed Jake down the fight of stairs. "What is going on?"

Sam sighed, "It appears, Mr. Ely,..." She joked, as the bottom of her flats echoed in the stairwell, "That we're up the creek. But here's what we're going to do: Nothing. Just pretend I'm not here." Sam said.

They reached the landing, and Jake didn't go forward. Instead, he turned around on the wide landing, and said, "What?"

"I can't interview you." Sam admitted. Jake would clam up, and the whole trip would be useless. "We both know you won't say two words, but I can observe you going about your day, and I can write about that. For it to work, you need to pretend I'm not here."

"That's insane." Jake bit out, staring at her. Sam took an awkward step backwards on the landing, leaning into the wall. Jake looked down into her eyes, and Sam's heart started to pound. This was as close as they had been for months, maybe the closest they'd been ever. Maybe she should do something about it, Sam thought. Maybe she should stop staring. Maybe she could...

Reflexively, Sam ran her tongue over the chapped corner of her lips, "Jake..." She had to make him see that this had to be exactly like this. She had to make him understand that the heat of his nearness was driving every thought from her head, and sucking the air from her lungs. He had to understand that this stairwell was all they had, maybe all that they ever would.

"You want me honestly to ignore you?" Jake asked harshly, not giving her the space to move, not that Sam wanted any, "Just go about today like you're not here, and I'm not..." He made the idea sound like it was crazy. Sam inhaled, tying to steady her thoughts. Her body felt weightless at his nearness, and the clean sent of soap that lingered on his skin drifted around her.

"This is a big story for me, Jake." Sam explained, softly, trying to still her racing heart as Jake's eyes glittered. Sam wished she was tall enough to put her head on his shoulder. As it was, tilting her head gave her a unique sense of protection. The only sensations she was feeling came, somehow, from Jake. "It could mean a job after college. I can't allow anything to get in the way of this. We have to do this story as ethically as possible. I'll disclose that we're friends in the writing, but I can't allow our friendship to color the research." She was telling him, as much as reminding herself of all of these facts.

Pushing up on her toes and...Sam's mind ran wild. No. Doing that was not a good idea. It just wasn't. How easy it would be to kiss him, to end this whole bit of tension spiking around them. But no, they were friends, and only friends, and she needed to remind herself of that fact.

Something shifted in his voice then. Sam felt it, as much as heard it, and it was all she could do not to shiver. "So I'm supposed to do what, exactly?"

"How would you treat me if I wasn't me?" Sam asked, hoping that her earlier gaffe in mention how friendly they were could be paved over. People did not kiss their friends, no matter how much said friend was really, really, fixated on the idea.

Sam's fervent hopes were dashed as Jake stepped away with lightening speed and started back down the stairs calmly. "Jake!" She called, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. Darn his composure. Sam was rattled, unglued, and he'd barely touched her. She could not let herself imagine anything further, not with her mind as it was. She bit her lips, pressed them together, took a steadying breath, prayed for self-control, and bolted down the stairs after him.

He was at the bottom of the steps by the time she got there. "What?" Sam stood on the step, as Jake opened the door, "I don't hang out in stairwells with strange girls."

Sam gaped at him. This was not going to end well.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She was going out of her mind, and not in a pleasurable way. They were pretending not to know each other. What part of that did he not get? He held the door. He pointedly did not touch her, not even casually. There was a wall between them. Surely strangers did not act this way, surely. "What's first on the docket?" Sam asked as she padded along next to him, his long strides eating up the ground much faster than she ever could.

Jake gestured towards a building. It was the Dining Hall, Sam knew. He was hungry, then. Sam figured she should abstain if there was a huge plate of pad thai in her future. Jake held the door again as they walked silently into the building, and again, he did not let his arm brush any part of her as he might have. The lack of touch felt suspicious. People would know he was not touching her if he didn't, at least casually. He pulled a tray off the of the pile. Sam pointedly asked, "May I have my bag?"

Ordinarily, she would have told him that he was hogging her stuff, and to give it back, but there were roles. "We're eating, not working. Go find something you want." He was already striding away, toward the salad bar.

Sam sighed and walked after him. She didn't tell him that she wasn't eating, but he looked up from loading down his plate with grilled chicken, and she saw surprise on his face. Realization flashed in his eyes. He thought she didn't know where to go. "They've got sweet potatoes on the end of the side bar down there. Up that way is entrees, back that way is dessert." Jake outlined, knowing that she liked sweet potatoes, taking huge amounts of vegetables onto his plate. "It's going to be hours until we eat again."

Sam understood. He couldn't go a few hours without eating enough calories that would have lasted a week for most people. He was continually hungry, and always assumed that she would be too. He was funny about eating without people. "Not everyone eats as much as you." Sam grinned and followed him towards the huge cake on display. It was glorious. Sam's calorie limits would be blown several times over if she ate even a tiny bite of that thing. Her hips were expanding in its presence. It was amazing.

It looked amazing, and she wasn't really going to do anything but sit in a car until chores. Despite knowing better, she was reaching out to take one when she heard Jake mutter beside her, "Internalized sexism." Sam looked up sharply to find him grinning at her. He put two forks by the two pieces of cake on the heavy tray. Sam headed towards the tables, figuring that she would do her part to smash the patriarchy today. Sadly, confronting the system of patriarchy wasn't always as enjoyable as chocolate cake.

Jake was weaving through the tables when a voice called out, "Ely! We've got a spot for you!" Sam looked over to see several young men sitting at a table, food piled around them, chairs messily added to fit more people. Jake clearly wasn't too pleased about having to join in, but they went. Sam was determined to get information for her story. After all, she couldn't very well write a story about a man who declined to kiss her in stairwells and plied her with chocolate cake.

Sam approached the table behind Jake, bereft of her steno pad or her camera, she had to rely on her role to send off an aura. The boys shuffled over, and one spoke to her, "Hello?"

Sam realized she had been standing there, staring at them like a dolt. Unlike everyone back home, she and Jake were not peanut butter and jelly here. They weren't perceived as being together, as though it was natural to see them both together. "Hey." She stood there, "I'm Sam. I'm following Jake around for a story. I'd love to ask you some questions, but otherwise, don't mind me."

She finished speaking to note that Jake was looking pointedly at the chairs. Another darn rule of Elydom. Sam sat to the closest chair, next to someone named Bobby and across from someone named Doug. Jake pulled the chair from behind them and placed it next to her on the corner of the table, ignoring the seat down at the end that was clearly meant for him. Sam refused to make anything of it, though she did try to scoot over closer to Bobby to give him some room. She couldn't move, and looked to find that Jake had hooked his foot around the leg of her chair. She wished she could shove him off of his chair in retaliation, but she was a professional, even if he was a five year old boy who wanted to get her back for hogging the table.

"So." Bobby said, "What should we tell you about Jake?"

Someone from down the end of the table, Randy, crinkled his nose. Sam almost laughed at the expression, and pulled out her pad and her camera. She checked her settings as Randy spoke, "We're an open book." The others made statements of agreement. Sam discerned that Jake was the quiet one of the bunch, as they all began to laugh and joke and talk.

Jake was taking this well. He'd placed the tray between them and was eating his salad quietly, though the ghost of a smile danced on his face. Bobby added, "Ask us anything, we're willing to set aside team loyalty to preserve your journalistic integrity, Miss."

Sam ignored her cake, and tried to start off slow, "Well, what kind of teammate is he?" Jake, clearly without thinking, had arranged their dishes. Sam slid nonchalantly into sharing a tiny space with him. Thankfully, she was left-handed and did not elbow him at every turn. She turned her mind to her job, and not the cake before her.

Sam bit into her cake. It was great. There was a ganache, and heavens above, it was German chocolate. Jake's eyebrows knitted together as his eyes zeroed in on her, "You're not interviewing people about me in front of me. There's bias."

Sam acknowledged the truth. She wished she could drink his water, but they weren't supposed to share drinks, if they were strangers. Strangers thought it was gross or something, and rightly so. Jake had probably forgotten that fact, though sharing stuff was just easier. It saved money, and they'd always done it. "Sure."

Doug shook his head dramatically, as though affronted, "We would never lie to a pretty girl, Ely. You'll get the truth from us, and if Jake's uncomfortable, he can get lost and not us." Doug's tone light, teasing. Had Jake been telling them to go away? "We'll have a fine time without him. Should we set up interviews?"

Jake stabbed his salad forcefully. Sam thought quickly, searching for an out. She did not really want to write her story on the basis of interviews. She wanted to see Jake, have a moment to shake off the roleplaying that she was regretting keenly. Sam found a way to save face, "Thanks, but I promised Mike..." she was glad she'd remembered to use Mr. Miller's name. The act she was pulling off meant that she was cool, calm, and collected, who used teacher's names like it was nothing, "that I'd stay with Jake." She'd done no such thing, of course, but what good was a friend if she didn't use him once and awhile to save face socially?

The wall between her and Jake grew thicker as he reached carefully towards the middle of the table for a napkin, rather than taking one from her pile. She'd screwed up and gotten too many. Sam looked at him, then, and saw something dark in his eyes. It sent a bolt of frission down her spine, and Sam gripped her camera carefully. She tried to breathe, but the idea had left her brain. "Aw, I'm sure your boyfriend won't mind."

Sam's reply was automatic, "Oh, he's not my boyfriend." The words left her mouth before she looked away from Jake and she realized that they were talking about Mike, and not Jake. The idea was humorous, and something of a change. "Mike's my editor."

Jake spoke then, "You call him Mike, now. Didn't you just meet the guy?" He was actually curious. Sam understood why. She liked people, but she always tripped through life sticking her foot in her mouth. Gram said she had grown out of it, and that she was a lovely girl. Jake probably assumed that, based on their conversation last week, that she had overcome her awkwardness at having a temporary advisor. She came up with a great reply, "Well. I mean, I call you Jake, and I don't know you from Adam." She smiled at the implicit joke. That saying annoyed Adam. She was also reminding herself of the limits she'd set up, which Jake seemed to be ignoring. He was not all ill at ease here, and he kept looking at her.

Jake muttered something and turned back to his chicken. She allowed the conversation to carry on, and Sam didn't realize that she didn't take a single note as she got to know Jake's friends. They saw him so differently. They thought she was quiet, reserved, that he was hard working, and not much fun. They saw him as a fuddy duddy. He was all of those things, but not in a bad way. He was deeply emotional, a lot of fun, and had a wicked sense of humor that they couldn't see. Her biases were coloring her impressions, but frankly, she thought his teammates were blind, even if they did leave her with more questions than she had answers.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam found herself sitting in the bleachers, waiting for Jake. He'd had a meet today, but she wanted pictures, so she hauled him out here to stand around and smile nicely, which was harder work than anyone realized and they'd almost had a bit of a heated discussion over it all. Max had called, so he'd wandered off to talk to his mother. Sam stayed in the bleachers. She tried to sort through the ideas she had for the story. So far, she knew she was missing something. She had just sat down when a man approached her, from the back corner of the bleachers. He was older, and spry. Sam liked him instantly as he tucked away a tissue into wrinkled pants. "This is an odd study spot."

Sam looked up, "Uhm. No, sorry. I'm just waiting for my..." Sam nearly said friend. She stumbled, "For Jake." She did not say that his mother called, because there was too much to explain. A realization dawned within her, "You're the retired coach, right?" Sam did not know how to handle meeting one of the best coaches on the planet. He really was. After all, he'd only retired due to cancer that was now in remission. As a parting gift, he'd donated half his money to build this place. "David Melanchthon, right?" Sam was a tiny bit awestruck. She had a bunch of questions that he could answer, if he wanted.

He shook his head, looking at her curiously, "Only my mother called me David." He sat down next to her, "Even my wife calls me Reese. I don't answer to anything but Reese. I had a bunch of stuffy old ancestors who wanted to live on, forever. 'Fraid I never was cut out to be a theologian." He filled in Sam with a bemused smile, "David Harrison Reese Philipp Melanchthon, at your service." He continued on archly, "You're that girlfriend of Jake's?"

"He's got a girlfriend?" Sam asked quickly, coloring. Well, no wonder he hadn't picked up on any signals she'd been sending for at least a year now.

Reese looked at her, archly. Sam swallowed. She was dealing with the loss of hope, the crushing of her innermost hopes, in front of a man who routinely made grown men cry. She would not, and anyway, it was nothing to cry over, not really. He should have told her though. She didn't like that she had been coveting someone else's boyfriend, and she most especially did not like knowing that her best friend was a liar. He couldn't have a girlfriend. He didn't. He would have said, and there was no way he wouldn't have run the girl by her. She was better at googling people. "Somebody up home, I gather." Reese said, "Which, judging by the way you were looking at him, is clearly you, though you're here under some professional capacity." He looked at her, "Sensible shoes, steno notebook, and tucked up hair. You're a reporter."

"I thought the camera would be my tell." Sam said, admitting the truth with a smile. Reese reached into his pocket and offered her a hard candy. She took the peppermint, and he popped one into his own mouth. Wait until she told Jake that she had eaten peppermints with the man who endorsed them. She would never let him live this down.

"Anybody can by a camera and tote it around, girl." Reese chided her. "Think about the first thing you learn about being a reporter." He continued on without her input, "You're behind the lens, behind the pen. You're not bent on being seen. You want to blend, observe, sense, become all eyes and ears. Amateurs don't know that, and they dress with an eye toward being seen." West concluded, "So, you look at the shoes. And in your case, the hair." Sam quickly reached up and tucked away strands that had fallen out as she'd followed Jake around, listened and observed. He never forgot that she was there. He pointed things out, took to spots on campus that he thought she would like. Sam knew that his small detour through the journalism department hadn't been accident, though Jake passed it of as the quickest route. Sam knew better, she'd studied the maps. before she'd come here.

"Which brings me to my question." Reese said, "You're the reporter that came to meet Ely. How serendipitous." Sam got the idea that it hadn't been serendipitous at all. "He's got to face facts. He's a good athlete, and if he's going to make anything of himself, he's simply got to open up."

Sam disagreed. She held her piece, though, not wanting to voice that Jake was one of the most open and honest people she knew. "He's a good man." Sam asserted quietly. The statement was pure fact. He was among the very best of men, for all of his stubbornness and assertions that he knew things that he did not.

Sam's ears perked up when she heard Jake clattering up the bleachers. He called out, "Sam, Mom says Quinn..." He broke off when he saw Reese. His posture shifted, and he lost some element of ease that Sam realized that she only saw when they were alone. He was looking at them carefully. Sam understood why he had never said he'd met Coach Melanchthon. She never would have believed him. "Reese."

Sam stifled a bit of a gaping look as Reese answered, "Ely. Your time was good today, and you kept your shoes on. Good for you." Their interactions were easy. Jake didn't even look a tiny bit taken aback.

Jake nodded respectfully. Reese continued, "But for the love of God, Jacob, watch yourself going through that creek, you hear? That water may be contaminated for all you know. I hear some old business conglomerate owns the land there, you never know what the old coot poured into the water." Sam wondered why Jake didn't get the joke. Reese's father had owned that land, it was how they had gotten a lot of their money, which had been spent on the very building she was sitting in, "You don't need to wallow in it when you cross it. Use your brain on that!"

Jake arched an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes, unable to help herself. He wanted to know if they knew each other well enough for him to introduce her. Roleplay was so not their thing, Sam thought. Dropping all pretense, she said, "Jake, why didn't you tell me your friend Reese was Coach Melanchthon?"

Silence followed her question. Reese answered, "He didn't know, Samantha." Jake looked thunderous.

Behind the granite etched into the lines of his body was shame, shame, and hurt. "I had no idea." He looked at her, "And now it's going to be in the paper that I...lied, took advantage of resources my teammates don't have, cheated. Everything..."

Sam tilted her head, "All that's going in the paper, Jake, is anything we agree on." She didn't have the guts to tell him that, at the end of it all, she could have written a passable story without even saying one word to anybody. She knew Jake's stats, had followed the blog and website out of thinly veiled personal interest. At the end of the day, she wasn't going to put some story above two decades of friendship. Maybe it looked silly to some, but it was only ethics to her.

Reese looked surprised. "Well. You're certainly throwing away a lead." He reached into his pocket for another mint, but came out only with plastic. Sam wished she had another mint. Her mouth was dry. Jake looked ready to bolt.

"No." Sam replied, sure that she could make this work, and help Jake feel better. "I'd like to understand why you lied to Jake, though, Coach. That would be quite the headline, now wouldn't it? Famed Coach Uses Track Complex to Dupe Up and Comer." Sam quoted, "Now doesn't it?"

Reese laughed. "You'll go far with that kind of chutzpah." Sam did not laugh, and Jake was still looking around like the bottom had fallen out. Sam did not waiver, and Reese admitted, "I saw something in the boy. Figured George had no idea the kind of potential he was throwing away by giving up on the kid. George's a good boy, but he rarely looks below the surface." Reese looked at Jake, "I helped you. What skin off of your nose is it if I chose to augment your coaching and not the whole team?"

Jake shot to his feet, "It feels dishonest, Reese. Like I cheated. Like I had somebody in my corner that nobody else did. I don't know."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Jacob. It isn't the case, and we will talk about it when the AP isn't waiting for a story." Reese insisted, and the joke went over well. For many people, it would not have, but it did with Reese. "The real story I want to know about is that bracelet you wear."

Jake colored. Sam was on it like a fly on a pie, "Jake?" She pressed. Sam looked at his sleeve. He was wearing the Phantom's bracelet that she'd given him. Sam shifted on the metal seat to look at Reese, wheels turning in her head, "Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you orchestrated a media interview for Jake just so that you could find out about the bracelet without asking yourself?" She was incredulous. All of that effort for one question?

West replied without shame, "Yes. I came up here to muscle you into asking some questions about it, but well, you're not easily directed." Reese replied. Sam was glad that he did not reveal to Jake the fact that their conversation had been dominated by her unrequited love for Jake. There were some truths that were never meant to see the light of day, especially if he did have a girlfriend. She would never be able to live with herself.

Sam's heart beat quickly. He was not injured by this deception on Reese's part, and she knew it would be all worked out, somehow. "I've no idea what to say."

Sam inhaled. That hadn't been why she'd given it to him. She'd given it to him so that it would lead him to where he was supposed to go in life, all the while knowing that there was a place in the world that was there to catch him if he fell. He'd needed something to take with him from home, something to ground him to the earth that he loved, something that would keep him as one with it, remind him of who he was and always would be. Sam replied, "It's a magical bracelet made of the mane of a magical horse that rules the range, who moves like the wind and lives forever in unity with the land." Sam nodded primly.

Reese chuckled, "If it was a gift from your girlfriend, Ely, why didn't you just say so?" Neither Sam nor Jake corrected him. It was old hat. "I was thinking it was a power balance that actually worked and wasn't a placebo. Your times skyrocketed when you started wearing it. I wanted to develop the technology."

Jake contested that statement, "You were curious, admit it." Sam's mind was spinning with the opening lead of her story. She knew just what she was going to say.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They were quiet as they crossed campus, their day having not made dinner out possible. She had to get home. Sam wanted to know how Jake was feeling, but he knew that she wasn't going to get answers until the story was done, until she could just be his friend again. The light was changing, and she had to get to the car to meet Mr. Miller. They were in the stairwell when Sam worked up the courage to say something, to break the silence between them that seemed tense and heavy with expectation.

In the middle of the landing, Sam turned around quickly. Jake stopped on a dime, wrapping an arm around her as they bumped up against the wall. Sam's lungs froze in her chest and she knew that this was her last shot. She was leaving in five minutes and everything was wrong, even though she had her story. Jake was going to step away quickly. Sam had to stop that from happening. He needed to know. Her words were rushed, "I'm me again." The words left her in a heated whoosh.

Jake's eyes glittered in the semi-darkness. The stairwell was barely lit. Sam was going to hyperventilate if he didn't do something or back away. She was feeling too much, her mind was spinning. She was going to explode, and he was only looking at her and touching her in a gentle way that she wished she could interpret as platonic. Pretending not to know him had been so frustrating and annoying and wrong and awful and terrible. It wasn't right and it wasn't fun, not after the first few minutes. She, Sam realized, wanted people to know what he was to her. He didn't even know what he was to her, and somehow that was even more wrong. Sam wished her mouth wasn't so dry, that she could hear above the blood rushing in her body, the want itching across her skin.

Her awareness of Jake was absolute and all consuming. "Really?" His voice made her tremble, there was something in it that made her see all kinds of things in her mind, the kinds of things that were based off of what his lanky fingers were doing to the sensation receptors in her body.

"Yes." Sam said, the single word filling the space between them.

Jake's grin was electric as he realized what her intent was, and assured that her aim was true by moving to compensate her. If he had not moved, she would have ended up kissing his ear or something. The thought flew from her brain as their lips met. Their first kiss was everything she'd ever wanted in meaning, if not in technical grace. It was honest, and joyful, and hopeful, and perfect in Sam's mind. Sam felt Jake's smile against her mouth, could literally feel him vibrating with joy as he urged her to deepen the kiss. At that, Sam had to press her knees together to keep them from knocking together, as Jake pressed himself closer still and she felt the changing textures and sensations of the kiss with such awareness that she thought she would literally fall over if it ended. Their bodies closed the remaining space between them as Jake pulled his mouth away, breathing raggedly. Sam barely felt the brick wall at her back. They stared at each other. Sam was assuring herself that their moment had been real, that she hadn't dreamed it up. She didn't know what to say.

"You could tell me what you're thinking." Jake offered, looking at her with an amused expression as she lowered herself back to her feet. She hadn't meant to speak aloud. She didn't want to say that to Jake, though.

Sam shook her head. They needed more time to explore those thoughts, and she wasn't going to rush this. "So, uhm. Is this why you don't hang out in stairwells with girls?" The question was absurd, but it fit the moment, fit the wide smile on her face, fit everything about this moment. She would never forget it, and she just had to know.

"I said I didn't hang out in stairwells with strange girls." Jake returned, and broke their embrace, tossing a grin over his shoulder. "I never said a word about not kissing them."

Sam inhaled, "I am not strange." How dare he say that she was strange? She'd show him strange. She'd show him. After gathering her wits she followed him up the steps, "I am not!"

Jake held the door open, "Says the woman who decides that we should pretend not to know each other for an entire day." His body weight absorbed the weight of the door that opened to the hallway. He leaned down as his hand drifted across her elbow and whispered, "That's a pretty strange definition of foreplay, if you ask me."

Sam huffed and stepped on his foot, flipped the ends of her tousled hair, and walked towards the parking lot. Jake called after her, "We'll work on it!" Sam looked back over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow, trying to contain her anticipation. She couldn't wait.


	3. Remember Me

_You're lookin' at me I'm lookin' at you_

_And it's everything a grown man can do_

_Not to break down and cry like a fool_

_When you smile at me_

_I can only that hope I do my best with whatever time that we got left_

_And when everything's done and said_

_You'll remember me_

_You got angels watchin' over you and your mama don't suffer fools_

_And there ain't nothin' that she wouldn't do for you, I don't believe_

_But there'll come a day when you're all alone_

_And you'll have to stand up on your own_

_Remember Me_, Steve Earle

Lou sighed, and took in the room before her. Her idiot brother was lugging her trunk behind her, and he pushed her into the room. She had wanted to savor the moment of walking into her dorm room, savor the moment of crossing the threshold into adulthood. She wanted to cement the memory in her mind, the memory of the moment when she joined the ever growing number of Ely's to attend this school. Her parents had come here, as had uncle Seth and Uncle Cody, and the vast majority of her cousins. Most said they would be ignoring her unless she was bleeding or drunk. Lou resolved, therefore, not to bleed, and to hold her liquor, if she ever had any.

She breathed deeply, standing in the middle of the room as A.W. dropped her trunk with a heavy thunk on the bed. His actions ruined her projection of what the next four years were going be like. She was going to add her own name to the list of contributions her family had made to the school, somehow, and she was going to have fun that did not include a little brother tagging along. "You are ruining the intensions I am trying to set for this space." Lou asserted, "I want calming vibes in here, and you're acting like a dog let off his leash." Boomer had better manners when offered bologna. Her brother was a disgusting little boy, but he sure was fun to fight with. Why she had never gotten a sister she now understood. A.W. was enough for anybody and Mom and Daddy were only sane to close up shop after the combination of their genetics that was A.W.

Her brother started to say something, but Mom cut him off as she came into the room, "We're not fighting today." She made a statement softly, but one that cut him off at the knees. "A.W., go help your father with those totes." She ordered, setting down a rubbermaid bin.

He scowled at his sister, "Why doesn't Lou have to go? Just because she's going to college doesn't make her too good to actually do any work." Lou flipped off her brother, which made Mom frown intently. She didn't like when Mom frowned at her like that, but it was all A.W.'s fault this time.

Mom set down the law in that way of hers. Daddy might be a cop, but it was Mom who was absolutely in charge of laying down the law. "A.W., I want to talk to your sister. Unless you want a lecture on safe sex, get out." A.W. went. Mom called after him, "And keep your eyes down!" Mom shut the door behind A.W.

Lou's heart began to race. She knew Mom wasn't going to tell her anything. That ship had sailed, at least in terms of being educated. She was not without information, and Mom had already made some big point of telling her that she was going to be living on her own now, and she had to make her own choices, but she could call home for advice and support, no matter what she chose to do. As if she didn't already know that. Lou knew that Mom and Daddy had lived together since Mom came to college here, and they hadn't gotten married for years. Mom wasn't holding her to anything but safety.

They'd gotten an apartment, and Gram hadn't spoken to them for months. Daddy said those were some of the quietest moments in his life, but Mom didn't much like that, and she threw a pot holder at him and told him he was awful. Dad just grinned and raised his soda in mock agreement. She wouldn't be home for those silly moments, anymore. She was going to be alone, here, with no loud and crazy family to comfort her and fill her time and her home and her space. She didn't like it here. She liked her cozy bedroom, and her comfy spot on the sofa, and her stalls in the barn.

It was loud here, and not in a good way. She could not hear Cody going on about something to Mom and Daddy, could not hear A.W.'s annoying FFA friends going on about qualities a member should possess and ranting about the inaccuracies in _Napoleon Dynamite_, because nobody made movies about the FFA, and hadn't since 2004, way before they were even born. There was just meaningless noise as people settled into their dorms. They were not afraid to let their mother leave, worried about who would be the one to answer the door if someone knocked at night, or sad because there would be no one to check on her before she went to bed, even when she said she was too old. Mom always came in and smoothed down her blankets and asked about her day. That wouldn't happen again, not in the same way. And if it ever did, it wouldn't happen for a very long time.

Lou wondered how she could ever imagined that coming here was a good idea. This was her family's school. It wasn't hers. All around here were things they had done, changes they had made to the campus. She could never compete with all the things they had done, not really.

Mom spoke, "You'll do wonderfully, Loula. I love you so very much, and everyone else will, too." Mom sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out a small box with a bow atop it. "Daddy and I want you to have this." Lou sat down next to Mom and took the box. She had been waiting for this moment. She pulled off the bow, and opened the small box, knowing that she would never forget this.

In the box, rested the horsehair bracelet that she'd heard about all her life. Mom had worn it in college, and at other various points. She didn't know how or why, but eventually they'd decided to lay it aside for her, one day. When she thought about it, Lou thought that she would be so much more, on the precipice of greatness when it came to be her turn to wear this bracelet. She wasn't. She didn't feel much different from the little girl who had watched her mother tuck this away for a day far, far, in the future. She just didn't want to flunk out, honestly. Louisa didn't know that part of the story, but she knew what this bracelet meant to her parents. Daddy had worn it when he'd broken state records in Cross Country, and it had been on Mom's wrist when she'd become editor of the student media organization on campus decades ago that included overseeing a newspaper, two yearly journals, a radio station, and a TV station. The radio station had been her brain child, one that was still in operation. "Mom, I can't take this." To wear this, meant you were doing this, meant you were being who you were. Lou wasn't there yet. She didn't even know what she wanted to major in, let alone if she was going to change the campus, let alone the world.

"Lou, sure you can." Mom corrected gently, "It's been waiting a long time for this day. I think it's rather tired of waiting around in my dresser." Mom brushed a bit of her curly brown hair away from her eyes, and added, "You have a brain in your head and feet in your shoes, honey. Nothing is going to stop you. This is just a little reminder that there's always somewhere soft to come back to and that even though it's there, you don't really need it because you are the smartest and bravest woman I know. I could not be prouder of you." Mom took the bracelet of out of the box, "And I want to look at this, and I want you to know within your soul that you are you, the most wonderful you there ever will be, no matter what."

"Mom..." Lou watched as Mom took her hand and slid the bracelet over hand. Lou was shocked. The last time she had seen this, tried it on, A.W. had pulled out the drawer, and Mom had hurried around cleaning up the contents of the drawer. Her wrist had been swallowed by the shape. It had gone nearly up her arm. Lou had found this tangled in a pair of socks.

"You've grown a bit since you last saw this." Mom acknowledged her unspoken question. How sad it was going to be, to not have anyone around who knew what she was asking without a single word between them. "It suits you, Loula."

Lou twisted the bracelet around her wrist, thinking about the horse that shaped her mother's life, and her father's and everyone else's too. Thoughts of the Phantom quickly turned her mind to Bella. "You'll make sure Bella is okay?"

Mom understood the pain in her voice. Lou did not want to leave her horse, but there was nowhere at school to board her, and she didn't want to take Bella from her heard. She should not have to suffer so that Lou wasn't lonely, and frankly, she trusted her family to care for her over some hired people. "Everything will be just the same as you left it." Mom promised softly, and Lou's eyes filled with tears. It wouldn't be the same.

"Can't I.." Lou did not ask the rest of her question. She wanted to stay here, learn things. She just didn't want her parents to leave her behind. She would even let A.W. hold the remote, if it was that important. She'd be faster with her chores, and she would stop leaving microscope slides all over the house. She'd even be nicer to Dad about the rules. She'd get an actual job and pay for her car insurance. She could be an adult without leaving home. She knew it was possible. Even so, Lou was ashamed for nearly begging to go home, as much as she wanted to do it. This school wasn't cheap. This is what Ely's did, no matter that they had encouraged her to pick any school she wanted.

Mom sprang up, forcing a happiness into her movements that seemed contrived as she removed the lids from the totes. Lou was glad that she didn't continue the conversation as A.W. burst into the room with Daddy not too far behind. She was glad that she was not begging to come home when A.W. came in. He would never let her live it down. A.W. said, "You should see the snack buffet, Loula." He put down more bins, and spoke around five or six cookies shoved in his face, "I think they thought I was a student. Want to go get some?"

Dad came into the room, "No, Arthur. She's going to go with her dorm mates later." Dad looked around the room as if bereft. "Sam..." Lou really just wanted to hug her father, pretend that she was a little girl again. She had been so excited about college for weeks, so overjoyed to be getting out of Darton County, and seeing something of the world where she wasn't the daughter of some of the most noteworthy people in the area, who had some kind of freaky love story to boot. Having a big family meant that she had a lot of gazes upon her, and a lot of expectations that came with having so many cousins were always around. She had wanted to just be Lou, but being Just Lou, was scarier than it seemed. And anyway, she could never be just Lou with six cousins in the same school. Why did Dad have so many brothers? And why had they had so many kids right when she was being born? Uncle Cody had never had this problem.

"Right." Mom said, clearing her throat, "We'll get your bed set up, Lou, but we'll leave your clothes and things for you to unpack." Lou knew that that was to give her something to do later. She would not sleep tonight, and Mom knew that. It was kind to give her something to do until she fell asleep, and she hadn't brought much, as even the smallest wardrobe would fill the tiny closet in her room to overflowing.

Lou gave herself a pep talk as her family worked to set up her single dorm room. She knew some of the other girls on her floor via email, and she was already involved on campus. She had this handled. She was the top of her class, even though A.W. always said that was bull because she was the only person in her homeschool class, and she couldn't say that. She never did say it out loud, but it did bolster her confidence on the inside. She was a 4H-er, and she'd gone to the school for French Club. She could handle herself in two languages and she could lots of other things, too. She could do this. She could.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Mom and A.W. were finishing up the room, Dad asked her to go for a bit of a walk. Mom knew this was planned, obviously, and it seemed important to them, so she kind of went along with it rather than questioning everything. They made their way slowly away from the dorms across the campus to the quiet places on campus. They stopped in front of the track building. Dad opened the door, "Come on."

"Dad, I'm not an..." Lou looked down at her chunky calves. She wasn't an athlete, or even a tiny bit athletic. Her figure was given to 40 extra pounds no matter what she did or tried to do about it. She'd tried juice fasts, and Weight Watchers, and calorie counting, but it did no good. Mom said she had a womanly figure, but she figured Mom didn't understand. She could ride her horses, and she was good enough at that, but that was a life skill. Everybody she knew rode, and those that didn't were limiting themselves, Lou thought. She had almost been one of them. There had been girls in 4H who'd asked each other if they'd ever seen a cow riding a horse. Lou had been terrified for moths that she was going to hurt the horses, and had nearly stopped riding. It was then that she decided never to let what anyone said stop her. She was a good rider, better than those other girls, anyhow. Still, she continued into the bastion of fitness on campus with some trepidation when Dad looked at her, confusion in his eyes.

He walked down the hallway, and spoke softly, as the entered the building. "Did I ever tell you that I used to sneak in here and run?" He looked over at her and grinned. He was having her on. Dad was a cop. He was the arbiter of the law. He was so straight laced. He had never done any such thing. Lou would stake her life on it.

"Lies." Lou said, as they passed a trophy case. It took up an entire wall, almost larger than her dorm room. Lou walked slowly back in time as Dad was searching out something.

Dad shook his head as he looked through the display, "Nope." Dad said. He stopped in front of a picture, and turned to look at her, "I may be old now, Lou, but once I was young. Your mother and I did some crazy things here, some of which I am sure you will do, though I do not need to know the details." He blew out a breath, "That's not my point, though. Look."

Lou looked down at the picture next to a trophy that boasted that her father's record was still unbroken in the state, even now. "My point, Lou, is that you have to make this place your own. Maybe Mama and I did you wrong by telling you these stories. I want you to know that there is nothing you have to live up to here. This school is lucky to have you, not the other way around."

Lou's gaze snapped to her father. His words now flew in the face of everything she'd ever believed about college, about this one especially, about its campus and the faculty and all the work she'd done over the last four years, no matter what her cousins said. "I beat that record because I decided that I was going to be Jake, and not Jacob Ely, not number six, not anybody else but me." Lou had never heard her father talk like this, not really. Dad loved her with every bit of himself, but Mom was always the one that did the talking when push came to shove. "So you listen to me, Loula. You make this place your own. Do right by your own soul, and you'll do right by Mama and me, and anybody else that matters to you. You'll find your way."

He reached into his pocket and blocked what they were doing from anyone who might be coming down the empty hallway. He extended to her hand a purple canister. "Daddy!" She exclaimed at a shocked whisper, "This is illegal on campus." She did not take the pepper spray. Why was he doing something like this? He would be the first to write somebody up for breaking the law, Lou knew. The law applied equally to everyone, and yet, here he was, bending it.

"I don't care." Dad said. Lou was reeling. Her law abiding father was encouraging her to break the law. This was something new. "Now. Listen to me carefully." He took the purple canister and quickly walked her through using it, demonstrating the twist lock mechanism and the key ring. "Don't leave it in the bottom of your bag and never regret aiming for someone's eyes."

Lou put it in her bag, knowing that Dad would not be dissuaded. He'd already taken it upon himself to teach her whole Girl Scout group self-defense when they were working on their Gold Awards. She could use keys to poke someone's eye out like no one's business. It was then that she saw the $100 bill that had been wrapped around the bottom, visible only when her father let go of the canister. "I can't take this money." Mom had already put so much in her bank account, and Gram had sent so much food, and Bryn and Papa had given her more than what she knew to do with it. Aunt Jen had insisted on buying her textbooks. Aunt Sue had come to take her to San Francisco for clothes because she had never gone to a real school before, and Aunt Sue said she had 13 years of shopping to make up for.

Dad shook his head, "That's not school money, Lou." Dad started walking towards the door. Lou followed and padded alongside him as he headed towards the door. Why did an old guy move so fast?

"Well, we're at school, and it looks like money." She said, as they tracked their way through the building. "What is it, then?"

Dad took his hat off his greying, shorn hair, and plopped it on her head. He was so annoying sometimes. She still felt like she was 5 when she had his hat on her head, even though it no longer swallowed her whole, "A man I knew very well once told me you should always have a little something in your back pocket that no one knows about."

Lou thought for a second, and realized why he had brought her to this place, of all places on campus, "Coach told you that?" Lou referred to her father's beloved Coach, who, before his death from cancer in her childhood, had been a member of their family. Mom still sent Christmas cards to his widow.

"Pretty much." Dad confirmed, "He was a good man. He thought you were the most beautiful baby, you know." Dad got this misty look on his face as they walked along, "You had these little toes, and he used to take your feet and stretch them, you know, like a runner, and your mother would wince and said that if he broke your feet she'd publish a story with the headline, "Retired Track Coach Breaks Feet of Mentees' Child" and would plaster it everywhere."

"She always says stuff like that." Lou scoffed, sorting through fuzzy memories of an old man who gave her mints that she wasn't allowed to eat. "He believed her?"

Dad looked over at her seriously, "He never doubted that she was one click away from doing it. He would have been proud to see you here today, though he would have seen to it that you were running laps by sundown." Dad smiled.

Lou stopped and looked around the campus that had served for so long as the place of her mythical foundation. Her parents had gotten together here, had forged the life together that had created her. In her own way, she was doing the same, staking her claim on the world from the very foundation that had proved to be so strong and true for them. She did not know what her future held, but she loved them for giving her this chance to try and figure out just who she wanted to be. She loved her Mom because she believed in her, and she loved her father because he broke rules for her, proved to her that everybody felt like she did, somehow. She threw her arms around her father. "I love you, Daddy."

"Love you, too, Lou." Dad said, returning her hug. "You're going to do great." Dad smiled when she let go, and walked towards the dorm. Lou didn't think, later, about hugging A.W. goodbye, and telling him to keep his icky friends out of her bedroom. She did not think about how it felt to have her arms around her mother, warm and safe and all hers, as Mom whispered into her hair that she was the most wonderful woman she knew. She did not think about that until later than night. No, what she thought about the most was the look in A.W.'s eyes when he said, "I can't wait to come here."

She knew just what he meant. Her future was bright, and wholly her own. Turning away from where her parents were pulling away, Lou looked around the room that would be her home. The first thing she did was wipe away tears, and pat her curly hair down. Just as she finished blowing her nose, there came a knock at the door. Sarah Jane, her pen pal friend, poked her head in the room and called out, "I'm here! Come on, Ely! There's a mass spectrometer in the lab and I want to see it before it gets crowded down there."

Lou picked up her bag and went along quickly. She'd always wanted a mass spectrometer, even if her cousin Mark was the TA who guarded it like a dragon guarded her clutch. Yes, she decided, as Sarah Jane began to talk about the last weeks of her summer, the future was bright, and just there, waiting to be lived, understood, and analyzed. Like any sample worth having, collecting her data took time, and twisting the bracelet on her wrist, Lou knew she had just the right tools to do it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jake found Sam in the attic, pouring over Loula's baby album. "A.W. took his quad out." Jake said from the stairwell, and crossed the cramped room to sit down on the couch. "This sucks."

Sam looked up, then, bright and hopeful, "If we go and get her now, we could have her home by midnight, and we could..." She stopped, and turned a page, "She's just a baby."

Jake didn't disagree. Loula was just a girl, so wide-eyed at the world she was seeing that it broke his heart to leave her there. Every instinct inside of him had been screaming at him to stop the car, silly as he knew it was. Loula was strong and independent, and she likely didn't realize her parents were huddling in the attic, looking at baby pictures, wondering how so much of their lives had become nothing more than memories they carried within their hearts. According to Seth, who'd heard it from Mark, she was already in her element in the lab. "She's our baby, Brat, but she isn't a baby. Neither is A.W. He's almost 16."

Sam sighed, and Jake knew he'd said the wrong thing. "I want them to be babies again. This hurts. Couldn't we just say college is now a part of homeschool?" She smiled to herself, and pointed out a set of pictures. It was Loula and A.W. as they posed on their first days of school throughout their lives, growing bigger and older in each photograph, gaining hight and losing baby teeth along the way. Sam was developing a picture she'd snapped of them this afternoon, standing in front of the dorm. There were be more pictures to add, but tomorrow, A.W. would be the only child doing his schoolwork in the house. A.W. was growing up so fast, too. Jake felt the changes the day had wrought crashing down upon him.

He didn't reply. There was nothing to say that would dissolve them both into tears. Sam turned a page back to the front of the book. A yellowed piece of paper fell out. Jake leaned down and picked up the clipping. He hadn't seen this in years. "Sam, look."

Joyfully, she grabbed the clipping out of his hands and read the lead out loud, "It takes vision to find tradition under a brand new coach's leadership, and yet, Jacob Ely, former Cross Country Captain at Darton High, has used tradition to break new ground in establishing a mentorship program. This innovative program blends tradition and cutting edge pedagogy to match incoming athletes on his team with seasoned professionals and coaches to personalize their training and provide a support system. Ely has been working on developing this program with David Melanchthon for some time. The school is proud to announce that the program will be open to all athletes in the college in the Spring Semester..."

Sam broke off and grinned, "I can't believe my writing was that bad, then. I thought it was great." She mused, "Did I ever tell you that I was very proud of you for coming up with that program?" Jake took the clipping from her hand and recalled how it had been displayed at Clara's Cafe until it had fallen off the wall. The pride that had filled him, to see his name next to Kit's rodeo news clippings, had filled him with a sense of rightness. He would always be indebted to Reese for using his clout to help him establish a program that gave access to the resources he had to anyone who wanted them. Insofar as he knew, the programming was still in effect today.

"I think you showed me." Jake grinned. They'd had a lot of fun the night that piece had gone to bed. As Coach Parker snapped, they'd followed it there, being that the story had not gone to press until seven months after it was written.

Sam rolled her eyes, and took his hand, pulling him up to standing, "You'll be gratified to know that both my skills at writing leads and my ability to put a story to bed have quite improved in the intervening years." Sam made her way to the attic stairs quickly, "I'm certainly inventive, wouldn't you say?"

Jake stood there, thinking over how true her words were, and how right she was, when Sam called back from the bottom of the steps, "Hurry up, would you? I'd like to have my wicked way with you before A.W. comes home and I have to pull out the old yoga story He's too old to buy that, and too young not to be traumatized by the truth!"

Jake moved so fast then that he nearly tripped over his boots. He'd spent his life chasing after Sam, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He'd remember it all, and he knew that there were many more memories to come.

**The End... **

_I wrote this story because I wanted to do a scene with a Sake child coming to the college that their parents went to and kind of see their legacy and handle it, being that she isn't as set on her path as they were. It seemed clear to me that she would see the results of their efforts and not the struggles that got them there when looking it all over. _

_Thanks for the support. Another story like this will be posted soon. _


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